


the horse, the viscount, and the duke

by insunshine



Category: Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 11:35:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insunshine/pseuds/insunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a problem with Anthony's horses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the horse, the viscount, and the duke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spyglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyglass/gifts).



> Immense thanks go to Mel for her impeccable Brit-pick and beta. I would have been lost without her. Spyglass, I know that this isn't exactly what you were looking for, but I hope that you enjoy it regardless. This book series, and the stories of elder Bridgertons in particular are some of my very favorites. I hope I was able to do them justice.
> 
> Happy holidays!

March, 1815

It started, of course, with a horse.

Well, no. It started with Daphne, but Anthony had well and truly convinced himself he was no longer angry about it when the business with the horses started up.

“What do you mean,” Colin said, over port and biscuits in Anthony’s sitting room, “that your Arabians are being _mysteriously injured_?”

Colin had managed to stuff three biscuits in his mouth somehow. His cheeks puffed like a hamster’s, and Anthony didn’t laugh, but he’d have liked to. His lips twitched, and it was enough of a marked change in his demeanor that he noticed. This ease, this lightness, it was Kate's doing. His wife had done more for him in the months they'd been married than he could even begin to thank her for.

“I meant what I said,” Anthony said, his voice gruff. They were in his private study, the fire crackling merrily in the hearth. His wife was upstairs, his mother and siblings safe on Bruton street, but instead of feeling comfort or ease, Anthony could only consider the chill seeping its way through his joints and sliding down his spine.

Colin took a large gulp of his drink, proving his mouth empty, and added, “what you said, was that you believed someone to be tampering with your horseflesh.”

He raised his brows over the glass, his features barely visible in the firelight.

“Yes,” Anthony replied.

Colin hummed tunelessly, leaning back in his chair with the kind of practiced grace that had half the mamas in town swooning. It was a deceptive pose, though, and calculated. Not for the first time, Anthony wondered at his brother’s chameleon-like abilities. He was a shrewd man beneath his carefree exterior. 

Colin leaned his head back against the leather and belched.

Anthony blinked. Colin returned his glare with a smile.

“Apologies!” he said cheerfully. “Are you sure those biscuits were fresh?”

“Am I sure—“

“The biscuits.” Colin repeated himself. Anthony stifled a sigh, his brother grinning back over to him as though he knew and had been counting on it. “Are you sure—”

“Colin,” Anthony groaned, and something must have been obvious in his voice. Something must have sounded entirely different, because Colin snapped to attention almost immediately, peering forward with his palms pressed against his knees to get a better look at Anthony’s face.

He looked surprised, Anthony thought. Concerned.

“Anthony,” he said. “You cannot honestly believe someone is poisoning your horses.”

“Not poison, no,” he said, and Colin’s brows rose a little further, his features nearly caricatured.

Colin cleared his throat. “Dear brother,” he said. “Are you certain—”

“I am very certain,” Anthony said, feeling anything but. Healthy horses did not tumble over in exhaustion after a full night’s rest. They did not ignore troughs full of new hay in favor of gallons of water instead, and in all of Anthony’s years of owning his own stable, his geldings had certainly never outrightly ignored their master’s favor.

He had never been one to put too much or any stock in the supernatural. The occult. If any of those charms worked, the wishes he’d whispered after his father’s death would have come true and Edmund would be alive, older but still spry, present to see and know his children and grandchildren. To walk with them as he’d walked with his own children, Hyacinth excepted, and teach them their rightful place in the world.

“—on something sharp,” Colin finished, and when Anthony met his eyes, they were serious. He scooted closer, set the empty biscuit tray on the floor by his chair and pressed his palms on the desk. “Anthony, if you’ve been hurt, you should have sent for the physician right away.”

Anthony flinched. “I haven’t been hurt, you dolt,” he said, but Colin’s eyes remained serious. “I haven’t! I swear to you.”

Colin leaned his elbows on the expensive wood, a ring of condensation forming around the base of his glass. “You haven’t been hurt, and yet you expect me to believe that your horses, your prized horseflesh has been—what? Mysteriously tampered with? Who would bother with such nonsense? Who would care?”

“Colin.” Anthony gritted the words out.

Colin held up his hands in a mockery of surrender. “Brother, there is no logic to what you are suggesting.” He leaned back and stuffed the last remaining biscuit into his mouth.

“Do you think I would bring a matter of such—delicacy—”

“Lunacy, you mean,” Colin returned, and then he laughed, the idiot actually _laughed_ , loud and uncaring of the hour, despite the fact that Anthony’s wife was likely not asleep yet, and likely to be disturbed by the noise.

The short of it was... Colin wasn’t incorrect. Anthony had never shared his nightmares with his brothers, unsure of how to even broach a topic so bold, so personal. Colin couldn’t know the doubt Anthony lived with, despite the fact that he was as happy as he ever thought he’d be with Kate and more besides.

“I wouldn’t call it witchcraft,” he said, instead of responding to Colin’s rather idiotic turns of phrase. He wouldn’t call it witchcraft. As far as he knew, witches were about as common in Mayfair as they had been during the Crusades.

Colin shuttered his features almost carefully, like a mask. He kept his distance. “Not witchcraft,” he said quietly. “Well, that is a start.”

***

_Lord and Lady Bridgerton (nee Sheffield), were spotted visiting with the Duke and Duchess of Hastings, but departing far sooner than would be expected. Could there be a new Bridgerton family scandal looming? One can only wager._  
 _Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers, May 1815_

If she’d been warned, or if she’d had time to plan, or been given to the flights of fancy that prepared a person for such things, Daphne Basset, Duchess of Hastings, would have done something other than gape at the spectacle in the drawing room.

She wasn’t a gaper, not by nature, nor by practice, but it wasn’t every day that one came upon their brother and his fianc— _wife_ in such a delicate position.

“Daphne,” Anthony said, getting to his feet. Kate, Lady Bridgerton stood too, a bit too quickly. She bumped accidentally into Anthony and stepped away again almost as quickly, the color high in her cheeks.

Daphne blinked, and said, “yes, yes, hello,” and averted her eyes from where Anthony and his wife were having the type of silent, furious type of conversation they’d become so adept at within their first year of married life.

She didn’t envy them; it must have been exhausting, emoting so much with their eyebrows. She sat, as gracefully as she could, and Kate started to as well. Anthony was a master of propriety, however, finally meeting her gaze and waiting for the incline of her head before he took a seat on the settee next to his wife.

“Oh,” Kate said, starting to stand again. “I apologize, Daphne, I always forget...” her voice petered out slowly.

Daphne smiled. “No need,” she said. This was good. Sentences. Words. One foot in front of the other.

Anthony cleared his throat. Kate swallowed nervously. Daphne considered getting to her feet again if only to get a new perspective of the room.

“Shall I ring for some tea?” Daphne asked eventually. Too many seconds had ticked by since she had spoken, but it would have to do. She tried to remember if she’d ever felt so awkward in Anthony’s presence before and couldn’t name a single moment. “Such bad luck Colin is away,” she murmured under her breath and met Anthony’s eyes across the room.

His mouth didn’t twitch, but she would wager that hers was close. Kate glanced between the two of them.

“I need,” Anthony began, and then stopped himself abortively. Daphne said nothing, waiting for him to continue. “That is, I’d like,” he continued, “if your—” his voice faltered then, and Daphne winced despite herself. 

“Daff,” Simon said, walking into the room, his head in a book. “Do you think—”

Anthony cleared his throat. Kate blinked again, and met Daphne’s eyes across the space between the settee and her perch on the wingback chair by the fireplace. 

Simon looked up from his book, smiled heartbreakingly sweetly at Daphne and then noticed her brother.

“Anthony.” He was clearly surprised. He did not stutter, and Daphne, not usually one for prayer, closed her eyes and sent a fervent message heavenward. 

Anthony made his way to his feet again, and Daphne watched as Kate stood with him, smoothing her hand over his arm. Daphne tried not to stare, but it was a tad difficult, considering how _connected_ the two of them seemed to be. Oh, how lovely. She’d always been a fan of Miss Sheffield. Kate. 

“Simon,” Anthony responded, and didn’t even have the grace to look apologetic at the sour look that passed his face.

If Simon noticed, he took great care not to show it. Daphne stood too, moving closer to him and sliding a hand over his back. She hoped it was more reassuring than patronizing. Or not patronizing at all, in fact. That would be for the best.

“Anthony,” Simon repeated, and Daphne—on her best behavior—did her best not to laugh, until she caught Kate’s eye across the room and gave into her giggles. “Daff?” Simon asked, focusing on her, his eyes crinkled in the kind of confusion that made her want to kiss him, touch him, feel him—and all other things inappropriate before her brother.

“Kate,” Daphne said, deciding. “Yes? Still? Despite the formal moniker?” 

Kate flushed, and Daphne smiled as encouragingly at her as she could. “Yes, Kate,” she replied, which was a relief.

“Yes,” Daphne said. “I believe that Kate and I shall take a turn about the grounds. How does that sound to you, Lady Bridgerton?”

Kate smiled. “Very well, my lady.”

“Daphne,” Daphne said. “As you know.”

Kate smiled at her. “It never hurts to check, my lady.”

Daphne smiled at her again. “Come along then, Kate. It is high time we became better acquainted, don’t you agree?” 

***

Anthony was a proud man. His upbringing—his _parents_ had instilled a great deal of humility in him, in all of them from a young age, but even barely out of leading strings, Anthony was proud to be a Bridgerton. To carry on the name. To carry on the legacy. 

The nerves that pooled in his stomach at the sight of Simon Basset staring at him in shocked disbelief didn’t do much to remind him of that proud legacy. He felt small in a way he hadn’t in years and made himself take a walk about the room. He’d never spent an abundance of time in this house.

“Anthony.” Simon cleared his throat politely. “You can’t honestly think someone is purposely harming your horses.”

“I can,” Anthony said. “I do.”

Simon snorted derisively. “Anthony,” he said. When Anthony didn’t respond, Simon came closer to him. “You can’t—”

“I assure you, I can,” Anthony said. It was idiotic to come here and think that, despite everything, Simon was still somehow as a brother to him.

He gathered together his cane and Kate’s reticule. They’d walked across the square, the weather warm and pleasing, but outside the sky had turned a foreboding, gun-metal gray. Not the sort of weather anyone liked to have to walk through.

“Anthony.” Simon repeated his name slowly, as though trying to keep from stuttering. It wasn’t the only reason Anthony slowed his movements, but it was the most important one. “I will.” He paused for breath. “I will do my best to assist you in any way I can.”

“Even though you don’t believe the horses are being poisoned?” Anthony was aware of how empty-headed he sounded, how ridiculous. If word of this ever reached the House of Lords, or the ears of a peer, the Bridgerton name would be tarnished.

Simon nodded once, firmly. “Yes,” he said again. “Of course, Anthony. You know that I will.”

“I will never forgive you for disgracing my sister,” Anthony said. He met Simon’s eyes. He was no coward, not at this juncture, nor at any other. He was not surprised that Simon did not choose to look away either.

“I married her, Anthony. I love her.” Anthony could tell that he meant it. Simon had never been one to lie about such serious matters. He’d barely looked up from his studies to even look at women when they were at Oxford, and on the occasion he had, never the way he gazed upon Daphne. “Does that not count for something?”

Anthony shrugged. “I suppose,” he said. “Had you not married her, I would have killed you.”

“You nearly killed me anyway.”

A light rain started to pat against the windows. He and Kate would likely have to borrow a carriage to return home.

“May I,” Anthony began, but Simon did not let him finish.

“Of course,” he said. “I would never dream of letting you go all that way under such unpleasant conditions. I believe I had heard Lady Bridgerton does not like the inclement weather.”

“She is well,” Anthony said, with confidence. Kate had not had a storm-related episode in months. “We should take our leave, however. Wouldn’t like to overstay our welcome.”

Simon reached out, not suddenly, but with great care, setting his palm lightly against Anthony’s shoulder for the briefest of moments. “You are always welcome in our home, Anthony,” he said. “No matter how much you detest the sight of me.”

Anthony couldn’t think of a single way to respond. He strode from the room, only remembering Kate’s reticule at the last.

***

 _The Duke and Duchess of Hastings, along with the Duchess’ family, the overwhelmingly similar Bridgerton clan, set forth for the country estate of Viscount Bridgerton today. This author was not invited along for the sojourn home, but sources close to the family say it is to be a private affair to bear witness to the birth of a foal. How such a thing is appropriate for the eyes of ladies, this author cannot even begin to speculate, but perhaps the Bassets and Bridgertons would disagree. It is whispered that their numbers are soon set to double. Who could be adding an addition to their family? And, could it, finally, be one of Viscount Bridgerton’s younger brothers, Mr. and Mr. Bridgerton? One hopes, for the sake of the unmarried ladies of the_ ton _that it is not Gregory, the youngest boy of the clan._  
 _Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers, April 1816_

***

May, 1816

“Gregory,” Hyacinth hissed, peering out into the darkness of the stables. “I can’t see you.”

Gregory ignored her, creeping closer to where the foal was sleeping, nestled in the far corner of the stall. His head brushed against the skin of his mother’s belly every time he breathed.

“Gregory,” Hyacinth repeated, her voice much closer this time. He didn’t want to reveal his position, but Hyacintch’s voice could cut glass, and he didn’t want to wake the horses, he just wanted to see them. “I _will_ find you,” she said. He had no doubt of that.

He could surprise her, that he knew. And he was quicker than she was, especially in her sleep clothes. Still, it seemed a shame to wake up the horses.

“Here,” he mumbled, standing away from the shadows of the stall. “I was checking on Prinny.”

Hyacinth made a face. She was always making faces at him. “He’s _sleeping_ ,” she said, as though Gregory didn’t have two perfectly good eyes that saw perfectly well.

“I know that,” he said. “I was watching him.”

Hyacinth straightened to her full height. She was almost as tall as him on her tiptoes, but almost was still a fair amount, especially to a Bridgerton. 

“You might have disturbed him,” she hissed. Still, she peered closer too, taking in Prinny as he slept and almost losing her balance.

It was his turn to hiss at her. “ _Hyacinth_ ,” he said, keeping his voice low. “You know what Anthony said about the horses.”

“We musn’t disturb them,” Hyacinth recited by rote. “I know.”

“He would tan our hides if he knew we were out here at this time of night,” Gregory added, just to scare her. It was rare indeed for Anthony to ever raise a hand to them, but the possibility of a threat made Hyacinth still.

She seemed to consider him. “I don’t believe he would,” she said, but followed when he motioned to leave. 

The night was crisp for mid-spring, but neither of them shivered, a silent battle of wills as they neared closer and closer to the kitchen. They’d left the door propped open with the whetstone and for a moment, Gregory expected they would be caught; that Mama or Anthony or even Daphne would have somehow _known_ and left them outside to freeze.

“Do you think he knew?” Gregory asked, when they were inside again and he could begin to feel his hands and feet again.

Hyacinth was warming her hands over the remains of the fire, nearly bent in half over the hearth. “I do not,” she said. “Bridgertons are not very good with secrets.”


End file.
